Patience and Quiet by Zdenka  

Patience and Quiet

Tuor’s head was pounding, and a child’s voice was singing somewhere nearby—a wordless tune he could not identify, yet which felt familiar deep in his memories. His cheek was lying on grass; he could smell fresh earth and running water.

Tuor forced his eyes open and gingerly sat up. A little girl was sitting near him, golden-haired and blue-eyed as himself. She sang louder, and her shrill voice sent a stab of pain through Tuor’s head.

“Not so loud,” he said quietly. “My head hurts.”

The girl stopped singing and looked at him. “Your head hurts?” She nodded to herself. “Kiss it and make it better!” To Tuor’s surprise, she came over to him and planted a smacking kiss on his forehead.

Tuor blinked at her. “Who are you?”

She giggled. “I know who you are! You are Tuor. Tuor, Tuor, Tuor,” she sing-songed. “You came home and I found you!” She clapped her hands triumphantly. “You were little when you went away. Even littler than me! You weren’t even a baby.”

Tuor didn’t understand her words. But the place was pleasant; warm grass under his hands, and the sound of water in the distance. He remained silent and let the girl prattle. She dropped down next to him again and leaned her warm weight against his arm, and that was nice too.

“I want my brother to be here,” she babbled on. “I didn’t see him in lots of time. He hides, and I go and find him. But I looked and I looked and I can’t find him at all. Did you see my brother?”

“I’m sorry,” Tuor said. “I don’t know where he is.”

“I’ll tell Auntie ‘Rin I found Tuor,” she murmured. “She’s nice! She’ll help.” And then, wistfully, “I miss Auntie Rían.”

“Rían?” Tuor said, raising his head. He never knew her, but Annael told him that was the name of his mother. But maybe the girl had said something else. The sun was warm on his hair, and Tuor found his eyes drifting closed again.

When he woke up again, it was dark. His head throbbed where the overseer had struck him, and his throat was parched. He shifted a little, trying to find a more comfortable position on the dirt floor. The overseer had accused him of being lazy and shirking his tasks, though he had been working as hard as any, and he’d been locked in the prisoners’ hut without food or drink. He would be left there at least till morning. But he remembered traces of a pleasant dream; green grass under his hands, and singing, and the sound of a waterfall. He smiled a little, remembering the small girl who had kissed his forehead to make it better. Only a dream; but his head did hurt less than before.

“Auntie, can I have a cookie?” Lalaith’s voice said.

“Of course, child.” Aerin lifted down the box where she kept them, fresh-baked and ready to share with everyone who entered her house. But somehow the box was empty, only a little dust clinging to the corners. Aerin’s heart fell. It was terrible manners, to be empty-handed when a guest came by.

“I’m very sorry, Lalaith,” she said. “I don’t have any today.”

“That’s all right,” Lalaith said. She tugged at Aerin’s skirt. “Listen, listen. Auntie, I found Tuor.”

“Tuor?” Aerin echoed.

Lalaith nodded vigorously. “I found him, but they’re being mean to him. Auntie, will you help him?”

“Why don’t you ask your mama?” Aerin said. Morwen, so strong and brave, who wasn’t afraid of anything. Not like her timid self, who shrieked and ran away from spiders and barking dogs.

“Mama’s not here!” Lalaith’s lips quivered. She began to cry silently, not like a child at all, with tears running down her face.

Aerin dropped to her knees and pulled Lalaith into a hug. “Don’t cry, child,” she said gently. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”

“I miss Mama,” Lalaith said muffled into her hair. “And Papa and my brother and Auntie Rían. An’ I miss you too. I talk to you and you can’t hear me.”

“Don’t worry,” Aerin could only say helplessly. “Don’t worry, dearest.” And then the sound of a waterfall became louder, and she couldn’t hear Lalaith’s voice any more. When she awoke, perhaps it was only her imagination that her nightgown had new smudges of dirt on it, where dream-Lalaith’s fingers had grasped it.

It took Aerin half a year to find where Tuor was, among the thralls of Lorgan the Easterling, and nearly another two years for the chance to come. Aerin was never able to speak to Tuor herself, much as she longed to. Lorgan always had Tuor watched, for he knew that Tuor was kin to the former lords of Dor-lómin, and Aerin herself had few moments away from Brodda or those who would carry tales to him. Instead she sent Meril her maidservant, or old Sador, or one of the few others she could trust.

It was Sador who whispered to Tuor that he should join the thralls sent out to cut firewood, on a cold rainy day when the task was unpopular; and no one would suspect Aerin of interfering with Lorgan’s hunting hounds when she shrieked and jumped back at the mere sight of them. (Indeed, she shook like a leaf when she threw morsels of drugged food into their enclosure; but for her kin, she could bear it.)

Tuor killed the thralls’ guards with his axe and fled into the woods, and Lorgan’s hounds did not find him. Lorgan found no signs of collusion, though he searched and raged and threatened the thralls in life and limb. Brodda beat Aerin anyway, on the mere suspicion. Afterwards, Meril crept into her room and spread ointment on her bruises with gentle hands.

One thrall escaped, but how many remained in bonds? How many who whispered stories of Lord Húrin who was only gone but not dead and would return someday to save them, who looked to Aerin as the last among them of the House of Hador? Aerin pressed her aching body closer to the fire, clasping her hands together to still their trembling, and wished she had more courage.

Chapter End Notes

Title from Asgon's words about Aerin in Unfinished Tales: Narn i Hîn Húrin: "Many a man of arms misreads patience and quiet. She did much good among us at much cost. Her heart was not faint, and patience will break at the last."